


i must be good for something

by cutpalms



Series: these magic changes [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Excessive Drinking, Fjord (Critical Role)-centric, M/M, Pre-Slash, fjord loses his power for good, honest lots of angst but it gets better i promise, spoilers for C2E61, the m9 try to be helpful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 18:04:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18696574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cutpalms/pseuds/cutpalms
Summary: Fjord loses his powers for good, the Mighty Nein tries to comfort him, and Caleb offers to teach him a bit of magic no angry demi-god can take away.





	i must be good for something

**Author's Note:**

> nothing much happens here to rate it T, but I always err on the side of caution when dropping f-bombs. Also I wrote most of this before C2E65 when Fjord had less options for magic outside of Uk'otoa.

It happened at the worst possible moment.

Not that there was ever a good moment, not that there was any time where Fjord could handle losing his power completely. But there were times worse than others and the worst of them was in the middle of a high stakes battle with a demented cult leader and their summoned demons.

Especially not when they were losing and losing badly. Spreading out wouldn’t have been Fjord's first choice of battle tactics, but there was little he could do when the cult leader could shoot lightning out of their hands and had set up poisonous gas over half of the sacrificial chamber. The closest ally to him was Caleb, but he had found a stack of pews to stand on. A strategic position, it allowed him to both escape the yellow fumes and concentrate on the slowing spell that the molasses dripping from his fingers brought. Fjord had lost track of Jester and Nott in the confusion and the poison cloud, with only the sound of lolly-pop thwaping and crossbow bots snapping to let him know that they were okay and still doing damage. Beau he could see up on the dais, locked in combat with the cult leader who tried to block her fists clumsily with their staff.

Yasha was on the same level as Fjord but many yards away, likewise locked in battle against a snarling demon with poison dripping from its fangs. There were two already at her feet and this third one seemed well on it’s way, which normally would be a good sign. But there were just so many of them and so few of the Mighty Nein, several dozen of the hunking beasts versus the seven of them. And the demons seemed immune to the putrid fumes pervading the air, while the humanoids certainly weren’t. Yasha was just barely able to cut down her demon before she fell to her knees coughing. Caduceus came up behind her, soft green glowing energy pulling the yellow gas from her body, but he looked just as harried as the rest of them. The fact that he turned invisible immediately afterwards bellied the pessimism they were all feeling.

Fjord was torn from his despair as he felt the connection between him and his balgura severed in a cry of pain. Two six legged demons ripped the larger beast apart from the shoulders, black ichor spraying everything in the vicinity. As soon as the balgura faded away back to whatever demonic plane it came from, the remaining creatures fixed their yellow eyes on Fjord.

 _Smart little bastards_ , he thought as he started to back away. He had his falchion at the ready but didn’t trust his strength to be much good against these brutes. A quick glance proved that Caleb was still on his perch, sending bolts of fire at some of the as yet untouched demons. Satisfied that no one else but him was in danger, Fjord focused on casting his ice armor and bracing for impact.

But nothing happened. He swung the sword in it’s arc, focusing on pulling all of the moisture out of the air, pictured ice crystals jutting out of his shoulders and chestplate, but _nothing happened_.

Only an instinct that he hadn’t known he had developed saved him, letting him jump out of the worst of two vicious claw strikes. The scrapes he had gotten were far better than he would have suffered if he had stayed put, but were still more than he would have gotten if the Armor of Agythys had worked. More than if he hadn’t lost—

He needed to get out of there. Unconsciously, he started the motions required to Step away and leave thunder for these beasts. But there was no magic left for him to summon—or he was blocked from it—or something else, but he couldn’t think about it, not as he was flanked by two terrible demons with only a sword that felt like dead weight in his hand.

Fear propelled him and he dodged pasted one of the demons, suffering a nasty bite to his shoulder as he ran past. He glanced around frantically for some cover and ducked underneath the first pew he found. There was the crunching of wood as the demons tried to reach him but, at least for the moment, they could not get to him.

Giving him just enough time to figure out what the hell was going on. Fjord held up the falchion to find that the yellow beady eye was staring right at him. “Don’t do this, not now,” Fjord begged, letting his real voice rise above Vandran’s drawl. “I know you’re listening. I won’t be able to survive without this! Not without—not without your help.” Still nothing. “ _Please._ ”

The pew was splintering above him and he could practically feel the demon’s breath on his neck. Time seemed to slow down, however, in a way that was both similar and different from the dunamancy Caleb had been toying around with. The sounds of the battle faded away and all Fjord could only hear the thrumming of his own heartbeat and the silence of Uk’otoa’s denial.

Just as Fjord was about to open his mouth to start begging again, his ears started ringing loud enough to hurt, loud enough that it felt like his eardrum was going to burst. He covered his ears with his hands, curling in on himself and closing his eyes. Immediately Uk’otoa’s multitude of eyes swarmed around him, blinding and suffocating him all at once. The ringing came to a crescendo and the demi-god’s staccato speech shook through his mind:

**_FAILURE. STRAY. PUNISH._ **

And then, just as it couldn’t seem to get any more terrible,

**_PERISH._ **

Fjord was brought back to this plane as the pew finally broke under the weight of two monstrous demons. The wood splintered, the shards digging into Fjord’s hypersensitive flesh. Sound rushed back into his ears and he _screamed_ , screamed in a way he hadn’t let himself in a long time, not since screaming meant salt water filling his lungs, since it meant _drowning_. But this time there would be no pact to save him.

All he could do was try to crawl away as the demons snarled down at him, victory dancing in their eyes. The bigger of the two reared up on its hind legs to strike down at him with the certainty of Death’s scythe. Fjord held his breath and—

Red and orange erupted in front of him, blinding his orcish eyes with its brilliance. It took a few seconds before he could register the heat that accompanied it and a few more before he came to the realization that it was fire.

That it was _Caleb_.

The demons’ scream was terrible but it quickly faded away into the garble of the dying. Either they were weaker than Fjord had imagined for Caleb’s spellcasting had gotten even stronger than it was before. _How did he have another one of those in him?_ Fjord wondered as he sat flat on his ass, mouth agape. 

He glanced away from the roaring inferno to Caleb, standing strong on top of pews while Fjord was cowering. Fjord’s jaw was still on the ground while Caleb was smiling, lips were quirked up in the half smirk that he wore when a carefully calculated risk was executed perfectly. All at once Fjord realized that Caleb had been saving that spell for just the right moment to catch all of his enemies and none of his allies. Surround the center dias with a wall of fire, separate the cult leader from the demons, give Beau the upper hand, it was all part of Caleb's plan. An ace up the sleeve that can change the tide of the battle in the blink of an eye and the spread of phosphorous. _Brilliant._

And then Caleb turned away from the battlefield to meet Fjord’s eyes with brilliant blue. And then those eyes swept across Fjord’s body, sword, his face. And then Caleb’s battle-brittle smile turned soft as he seemed to register that the warlock hadn’t been torn apart by demons. Fjord wasn't sure if his ragged breathing came from panic over his near-death experience or some other breathlessness entirety. 

It was almost a relief when the battle pulled Caleb’s laser-like attention away from Fjord and his impotence.

The rest of the battle happened in pieces. Jester and Nott cheering as their foes were burnt to a crisp. Fjord pulling chunks of wood out of his side. The cult leader shouting, pleading for mercy. Fjord searching every part of his body for the magic that he lost. Beau grunting as she dealt the final blow and ending the gruesome battle. Fjord staring at his inert falchion, hand clenched around the hilt, the yellow eye closed.

That’s where they found him. Fjord wasn’t sure how much time had passed—seconds? minutes?—and blinked the question away as he looked at Nott. Her large eyes were blinking down at him as she perched atop the broken pew. “There you are! We’ve been searching everywhere for you, it’s harder than it looks with all of the fire and fumes around.” 

“Well, you found me,” Fjord found himself saying, voice somehow fitting itself back into the drawl that these people had gotten used to these past months. He tried to will Vandran’s strength and calm head to bolster him.

Nott’s eyes narrowed as if she could sense his weakness under the mask. “Is this where you were hiding the whole battle? Looks like this table hurt you more than those demons did.”

“I wasn’t _hiding_ ,” he spat, bile rising up in defense of the image he carefully constructed for himself. “I—I was—” _Lie. Lie. Lie. You can still do that, at least._ “Those demons knocked me into the pew.” He pulled some smaller splinters out of his shoulder as if to prove the point. “After my balgura fell I tried—I hit them with the good ol’ Eldritch Blaaaast, but those fuckers are hard to knock down once they start movin’.”

It was a good lie. Fjord had learned a thing or two from Beau about taking the truth and twisting it ever so slightly so it didn’t even sound false. He even played up the drawl just a little bit and pulled from a pool of confidence he didn’t feel.

But Nott still glared at him, suspicious like she always was. Or was she more so than usual? Had she figured out that— 

“It’s a good thing Caleb cast that spell then,” she said instead.

And Fjord nodded because of course it was, of course it was good that Caleb could right the ship even when Fjord could barely lift a finger. But before he could find his voice again Nott turned away from him. “I found Fjord!” Nott’s shrill voice called out through the sacrificial chamber. “He looks hurt!”

Fjord grunted and stood up, ignoring his shoulder and side aching in protest. He couldn’t think about all of the blood that he had lost. Not as his good hand still clutched the falchion and his head was swimming with fear and panic. Uk’otoa had left him to die. No, Uk’otoa had killed Fjord, the new man the ocean spat out with power and friends and a chance for something better. Left only this runt of the sailor with a sword behind pretending like he can fend for himself.

~ ~ ~

Someone must have healed him. There was no way he could be walking as steady as he was without it. Jester, maybe? No, she was hovering near Beau even as they walked, making sure that the monk could stay upright as they made their way back to the tavern. And Beau did look worse for wear, her skin littered with burn marks that only lightning could make, having taken the brunt of the cult leader’s attention. But she also was glowing with the after-battle energy she always seemed to have, especially when her prowess allowed the Mighty Nein to succeed when they might have otherwise failed.

All Fjord felt was a dull weariness, a slight ache where the demons had torn into him, and a buzzing in his ears. Panic had faded away a few hours ago—there was only so long that his body could sustain that level of fear—and faded into a prickling numbness. Maybe he could keep up the ruse that everything was fine long enough to figure out how to get his powers back. Or give him enough time to pack up and leave before the group could found out themselves. Or…something.

He’s not sure how long he had been mindlessly following the group but as he blinked his attention back to his surroundings he noticed that they were approaching the little town that they had been staying at for the past few days. Domarun? Dumaran? Something like that. They had been sent by the Bright Queen to take out another source of demonic incursions and most of the Nein had been happy to escape the domesticity that Rosohna and the Xhorhaus had let them start to slip into. 

It reminded Fjord of those early days when their group spent their time traveling from place to place, nomads doing good for a town just as often as not. The memory of Allfield burned in a way that he wasn’t ready to combat yet, so he tightened his grip on the falchion and tried to will his mind back into the comforting numbness.

“You can put your sword away, you know,” Caduceus said from behind him. Fjord jumped a little, not realizing that the firbolg was that close. “We’re back in town now. I don’t think any of the cult members would dare follow us here.”

Fjord willed himself to take a deep breath and relax his posture. “I realized. I just…” _Lie._ “Don’t quite feel safe after a battle like that.”

“I get that.” And there was Caduceus’s hand on his good shoulder, hot like a brand and just as uncomfortable. “You seemed to get hit pretty hard in there. Are you okay?”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Fjord snapped, pulling away from the attempt at comfort. He softened his voice enough to barely sound convincing. “Just a little jittery. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.”

The look Caduceus fixed Fjord made it apparent that he didn’t believe a single word, but Fjord couldn’t bring himself to care. He pushed forward past Caleb and Nott towards the front of the group, making a beeline for the tavern. But of course he couldn’t catch any more of a break up there.

“ _Fjooorrd_ ,” Jester said, skipping towards him and a giggle in her voice. “You look so _scary_ and _cool_ with all of that demon ichor and your falchion out like that.”

“Yeah dude,” Beau said, joining in the “let’s bring all of our attention on Fjord” game. “Normally I appreciate the whole intimidation thing, but I don’t think that coming into the inn openly armed is the way to go. Can’t you just, y’know,” and Beau flailed her arms in her best impression of the motion Fjord would make when he would dismiss Summer’s Dance back into the pocket dimension where it rested.

Her impression was actually pretty good, if slightly exaggerated, and Fjord would have smiled if every facet of his being was freaking out. “Yes, of course I can, I—only—” _Lie._ “I don’t—don’t want—” But he couldn’t will a lie into existence. Between Jester’s worried look and Beau’s discerning gaze, Fjord felt like he was going to melt. The words died on his tongue, just as inert as the sword he was carrying.

Beau’s eyes caught on the falchion and widened. “Hold on. What happened to your falchion. You know, the creepy eye thing.”

 _No no no._ Fjord’s mind echoed that over and over again, unable to think of any other word.

Jester gasped. “Oh _no_ Fjord, did something happen to Uk’otoa? Or did the cult leader hurt you? Oh what if the cult leader drained your powers Fjord, that would just be _so terrible_. What happened, do you remember anything—”

“Perhaps we should take this inside?” Caleb’s voice was a cool balm against the panic rising to a boil within him. When had he stepped away from Nott next to them? “Out in the middle of the town doesn’t seem like the best place for a conversation like this.”

Gods, Fjord could kiss him for that save, even if it was temporary. At least they could get inside and settle down and not have the entire godsdamned town staring at him. Give them a little privacy so he could tell them—

He tried not to let himself think too much farther ahead. “Agreed. Let’s head inside.” Fjord said as he took his falchion—stupid, dead, _useless_ , just like he was—and slipped it into his bag of holding.

Either his or Caleb’s look was one that brokered no argument because both Beau and Jester were uncharacteristically silent as the Mighty Nein filtered into the Crescent’s End Tavern. Fjord wished that he could fade into nothing, or at the very least pop over into the ethereal plane to avoid having this conversation. But of course he couldn’t, not without Uk’otoa’s blessing, that was the whole reason that they needed to have this conversation.

“Now I really don’t think this is as big of a deal as you all are making it out to be,” Fjord began as soon as the group had settled into the back table of the tavern. Someone—Caduceus, probably—had ordered them all food and drinks and a burly looking gentleman was bringing it to their table.

“Of course it is man,” Beau said around the piece of meat in her mouth. “You’re a part of the group and you’re important to us. Something’s changed your sword and left you scared shitless. Now spill—what happened to you in there?”

Fjord looked frantically around the table for support, his stomach churning at everyone's worried expressions, eventually landing on Caleb’s face. He wasn’t sure what kind of support he was looking for, but the wizard didn’t provide it, simply looking back at Fjord with an expectant expression.

Guess there’s no getting out of it this time.

“Everything was going fine,” he began, hands wrapped around his tankard of ale in a vice grip. “I mean, not fine, but just about normal for us during a battle. My balgura was fighting off of those demons, but then it fell and…and they came after me. I went to cast a spell, my ice armor or thunder step or something, anything, but…”

 _Lie. Lie. Lie._ His instinct railed against him, the same one that had made him leap out of the way of the demons. Instinct sharpened by the life that he had found and constructed for himself. Preservation. But he didn’t think that would work this time, not with the earnest look in his friends’ eyes.

“Nothing,” He finished finally, eyes down at the table. “Nothing happened. It was as if—as if Uk’otoa yanked the rug out from under me. No more magic. Gone.”

The table was silent as the weight of what Fjord said seemed to sink in. It was a serious enough moment that there weren't even any whispered echos of Uk'otoa's name.

“Are you sure it wasn’t the cult leader?” Jester asked after a few weighted moments. “They looked really mean and had lots of magic, I bet they could have blocked your powers or something.”

“No, Jes, I don’t think that—"

“Or it could have been the demons,” Nott continued, nodding. “Who knows what kind of nasty anti-magic powers they could have.”

“No!” Fjord snapped louder than he meant to, looking up to all but growl at Nott and Jester. Everyone fell silent again, eyes wide, and he looked back down at the table flush with shame. He fought to quiet his voice as he continued. “I appreciate y’all trying to come up with other possibilities, but it wasn’t any of that. It was—it was Uk’otoa. He’s….punishing me, for not doing what he wants. Taking away the gifts that he gave me when it could hurt me the most.”

“He spoke to you.” Caduceus didn’t frame it like a question, making Fjord wonder once again if the cleric had mind-reading powers after all.

“In a fashion,” Fjord admitted. “Enough to voice his…displeasure. Besides, this isn’t the first time he’s done something like this, but this was definitely the worst timing for it.”

“ _What?_ ” Beau hissed, leaning forward on the table towards him.

 _Shit shit, how could you let that one slip?_ “It wasn’t that bad,” Fjord trying to deflect, avoiding Beau’s gaze. “Just took them away for half of a day, a warning shot of sorts. To prove that he could do it. That’s probably all that it is this time, just a little more…dangerous.” Despite what he was saying, Fjord himself didn’t quite believe it. The malice in Uk’otoa’s yellow eyes, the harsh _**PERISH**_ at the end, none of that felt like a warning shot.

“To show that he had power over you,” Beau said, her words not softening at all. “What the _fuck_ , man. What the fuck? Why didn’t you tell us this before?”

“Because I was handling it,” Fjord matched her tone and fire, feeling his own anger rise in him.

“Like _hell_ you were,” she spat back, fist slamming against the table. “You were just pushing it aside hoping that it would go away. Sitting on it like a _dumbass_ instead of letting your friends help you. Gods, you’re just as bad as Caleb sometimes. Don’t you get it? You have a bunch of like super powerful friends here to help you with shit like this. That’s what we’re here for.”

Beau paused, catching her breath after the flurry of words she just released. But Fjord didn’t have an answer for her, for any of it. He just sat there, hands and posture stiff. _I don’t deserve her_ , he thought sullenly. _She’s right, she doesn’t need to be bogged down with my shit. None of them do._

“When did you lose them last?” Yasha spoke when the silence dragged on just past the point of comfortable. “Your powers, I mean.”

Fjord looked up at her. “’bout a month ago. When we first came to Rosohna before we moved into the house.” He kept her gaze focused on the barbarian and purposefully didn’t look at anyone else. Especially not Caleb and his inquisitive nature, knowing that his keen mind would undoubtedly have put together the exact time and place his powers were first stripped from him.

“Well then, maybe you’ll get them back soon then,” Yasha said, thoughtful. “If I were him I’d probably escalate first before taking them away completely.”

“Yeah, doesn’t he want you to like release him from his bonds or something like that?” Nott piped up. “Seems like it would be hard to do without, you know, weird ocean powers.”

 _Even she knows you’re powerless, weak, useless—_ “Maybe,” Fjord allowed. “We’ll just have to wait and see. I don’t exactly have a direct line to him or anything like that.”

"Well, maybe we can help you talk to him!" Jester said, voice chipper like the days-old pastries she tries to give people to cheer them up. Sweet, but slightly off of the mark. "I'm, like, really good at talking to people and gods even if they're super far away. Just ask Yasha! I helped her talk with the Storm Lord!"

Yasha's voice was gentle as she recalled the memory. "She did. She is really good at communicating, you know." 

"I'm not sure if Uk'otoa is much of the talking type, Jes," Fjord replied, hoping to dissuade them from getting caught up in problems he should be handling himself. But one look at Jester's watery gaze made him backtrack a little. "But we can try. Maybe he'll listen to you better than me." _Can't even talk to my own demi-god right, have to get your friends to do that for you too. Pathetic._ His head was swimming, trying to keep up with both the conversation and his own self-deprecation.

At least Jestered seemed to brighten slightly at that. "I can't do it today after the battle, but first thing tomorrow morning we'll ring him up and give him a piece of our minds!" 

“What if we went and found whatever demi-god plane he’s in and beat the shit out of him?” Beau said, getting excited too. “I’m sure between all of us even Uk’otoa would think twice before making your powers go away for good. Besides, I'm Fjord's first mate, I'm pretty sure that means Uk'otoa _has_ to listen to me.”

Fjord felt his ears burn. “No, Beau, it’s fine, y’all don’t need to—”

“Don’t give me that, Fjord,” Beau replied, flashing a grin that looked more like a snarl. “You’re still on my shit-list for your self-deprecating bullshit. We’re going to help you get your powers back whether you like it or not.”

“And if you die trying?” Fjord couldn’t help but release some of the anger he had reserved for himself. “This isn’t just some kind of mortal thing we can just _fight_ , Beau. He’s a _demi-god_! He could probably eat any one of you as a snack if he wanted to! I can’t have any of your lives on my conscience.”

“Well, maybe we don’t have to do that,” Jester broke in as if sensing the tension and trying to dispel it, like she normally does. “Is it the worst thing in the world if can't use magic anymore? I mean, you’re still pretty cool even without your powers. You’re strong and smart and you can copy accents, like, _really well_. That's super useful.”

“That doesn’t really help when I can’t look like anyone anymore,” Fjord said. He hated himself for the way Jester flinched at his raised voice, aggressive posture. But he continued anyway. “Besides, that’s just about useless in a fight. Which is all we seem to do these days.”

Jester forced a smile. “But you’ve still got the sword, at least. It may not be magic but it’s still sharp and you’re pretty strong and—"

Fjord stood up before he could register it, anger and hurt clogging his brain. He slammed his chair back into its place at the table and part of him was pleased at the way everyone jumped. "Yeah, a fucking sword, yipee. Look how well that worked for Molly. He had two of them he still ended up fucking dead."

Hearing Jester's teary gasp and Beau's angry grunt as he turned away didn't feel _good_ , exactly. But there was a certain type of satisfaction in hurting them just a fraction of how much he was hurting.

 _As if that wasn't your fault,_ he couldn't help but think as he walked out, rubbing salt in a wound that never quite healed. _Molly would still be here if he didn't have to come and save you, even with your powers you were a weak, pathetic runt—_ Fjord slammed his shoulder against the door of the inn hard enough to knock the thoughts away and for it to splinter slightly underneath him. At least he was strong enough to hurt a fucking stationary door. The cold air greeted him as he stalked out into the night.

~ ~ ~

It was raining because of course it was. Fjord couldn’t bring himself to care. In fact, he welcomed the numbing coldness to at the very least make his body quiet even if he couldn’t force his mind to do the same. He had spent the past few hours trying to conjure any sort of magic he had left. He tried to change his form, blast a couple of pigeons that got too close, create illusory fire out of his hands—but, just as he expected, nothing.

Not even a wall or a block that he could break through, just…nothing. Now he was the plain old sailor he was a year ago. The same boring man he has been for the rest of his life. Weak, unable to protect himself against the forces that the Mighty Nein found themselves up against on a daily basis. Weaker than he was even when captured by Lorenzo, had the life sucked away from him from the chasme, was almost killed time and time again. So weak he barely knew what to do himself this deep into Xhorhas when they had plans that were larger than life itself.

He thought of the Bright Queen's chamber and the promise they had made to find a way to end the war. He thought of Caleb, eyes bright and blazing, giving the beacon back to the people it had been stolen from. He thought of Caleb's voice, more animated than he had ever seen it, making a plan to burn the Cerberus Assembly to the ground before more lives were shed.

As he was, Fjord wouldn't be able to help with any of that. Without Uk’otoa he was worse than useless—he was a liability.

It was well into the night before he stumbled back into the inn with the burning need to get absolutely plastered. Unfortunately, the town was small enough that it only had one tavern, otherwise he would have picked another joint to avoid his well-meaning friends. He glanced about the Crescent’s End and found that most of the group had stayed at the table that they had all spoken at earlier, all huddled together and talking softly.

Yasha and Caduceus were talking softly at the table, appearing not to be shaken by Fjord’s outburst earlier. Nott was hunkered over her crossbow, cleaning up some of the grime that had accumulated onto it and fixing some of the weaker points. And Caleb was, to no one’s surprised, buried in a book, flicking through the pages with a speed that Fjord could barely even comprehend. Notably absent was Beau and Jester, likely retreating to the room that they shared even when they had the coin for individual ones. Fjord swallowed a twinge of pain at his outburst earlier and sat at the bar.

The same burly inkeeper/bartender from before eyed over his rain-soaked state with a judging look. Luckily he didn't seem interested in voicing his assessment. “What’ll it be?”

“A tankard of your strongest,” Fjord replied, placing two gold on the table. “Actually make it two.” 

The man grunted but did not comment, instead went to work pouring out two mugs of some rank-looking liquid. Fjord felt rather than heard the stool next to him shift back, and was about to bark something uninviting before he saw a flask slam down on the table in front of him. 

Fjord turned to find two large goblin eyes staring up at him. “You look like you could use a drink,” was all that Nott said as a way of greeting. She studied him for a moment. “Or five.”

“I do.” He took the flask and took a long swig that seemed to impress even Nott. The burn of the alcohol cut through the carefully constructed numbness, but the light-headedness he was already starting to feel was well worth it. “Thank you, Nott,” he said as he put the flask back down in front of her. The bartender came back with the two drinks that he had ordered and put it down in front of Fjord.

“No problem,” Nott said, but she didn’t leave like Fjord thought she would. Instead, she pulled one of Fjord’s mugs towards her like she owned it. “Want to talk about it?”

“I really don’t.”

Nott smiled up at him with all of her goblin teeth. “Good, me neither. Let’s drink.” And she held up her stolen mug in a toast to Fjord. He held up his own glass and clanked it together with hers with a half smirk of his own.

And then he drank. And drank. And _drank_. He couldn’t remember the last time he had drunk this much, not that his memory was working that great at the moment. Probably Hupperdook, or maybe even earlier than that on one of the merchant ships that he worked on. But he wasn’t drinking to remember the past or remember anything, really, and so he motioned the barkeep for another.

If the man was concerned about how much his patrons were drinking, he didn’t mention it. He obediently brought another mug of ale, lighter than the first drink that Fjord had ordered. The half-orc downed it as quick as he could to chase away as much of cognitive thought as he possibly could.

The rest of the night went by in a blur. He was vaguely aware when Caduceus came over and tried to talk him into having some water instead. That drinking away his problems wouldn’t make it better, that he should talk to someone rather than shove his feelings back down. Some shit like that.

Fjord couldn’t quite hear himself as he responded, but from the judging look in Caduceus’s eyes he was sure it was something appropriately belligerent. Caduceus turned around without another word and headed up the stairs.

Whatever.

He hadn’t realized Nott had left to go upstairs, but all of a sudden she was replaced with Yasha. She didn’t try to say anything like Caduceus had, thankfully. She just nursed her own ale and glanced over at him every once in awhile like she was trying to keep him company with her gaze alone.

He wasn’t sure why everyone kept trying to talk to him, help him or keep him company or whatever. He felt fine, great actually. Everything was warm despite the dampness of his clothes and the room was spinning and whatever heartache he had been harboring previously was long gone and buried. He couldn’t even remember what he was so upset at to begin with. All was left was a pleasant haziness and a slight nausea that he was sure would go away on its own.

Grinning up at Yasha, Fjord ordered another drink.

~ ~ ~

And then everything was dark. And he was horizontal rather than vertical. And his head was pounding and his stomach was gurgling and _man_ he couldn’t remember when he started feeling this shitty.

Fjord cracked open his eyes to find the ceiling of his room. There was a window over his head, the half-closed curtains letting in too much light for him to be able to handle at the moment. He groaned and moved his arm over his eyes to shield them.

Even that small amount of movement was too much for his hungover body to handle. A wave a nausea hit him and he rolled over reflexively. He was grateful for the chamber-pot turned barf-bucket as it gave him something to retch into. Apparently he had already emptied his stomach earlier in the night—morning?—because all that came up was bile. He grimaced as he wiped his mouth. It was going to be awhile before he’d be able to do anything useful.

“There’s some water on the other side for you if you want it,” a drowsy Zemnian voice said from across the room.

Fjord startled so much he almost fell off of the bed. He managed to catch himself somehow and turned to find Caleb sitting in a chair across the room. The wizard’s hair was mussed, clothes in a disarray, and a small amount of caked drool that shouldn’t be as cute as it was. Fjord’s brain was working at half speed trying to put the pieces together—he had requested a separate room, hadn’t he? It wasn’t as if this was the first time Caleb ambushed him in his room, but something about this felt…different.

It was a few moments before he could form the words properly. “Did you…did you sleep here?”

Caleb’s cheeks turned pink. “Not intentionally. I had, ah, only mean to stay until I was certain you would be all right. You drank quite a bit, my friend. But then I…I must have fallen asleep myself. It was a long day.”He tried on a small smile that didn’t quite fit him right. But even a small smile was rare for Caleb, and Fjord found his own cheeks getting warm. “Go on, you should have some of that water. Get back some of those fluids you lost.”

Rather than try to parse the amount of care in Caleb’s voice, Fjord sat up in his bed with a little effort and grabbed the glass of water from the bedside table. It was blessedly cool against his raw throat, even if it didn’t settle in his stomach quite right. Beside the glass there was a small pile of leaves that he eyed quizzically.

“Those are mint leaves,” Caleb said, guessing at the half-orc’s confusion. “Caduceus said chewing them will help settle your stomach. At the very least it’ll take out any bad taste in your mouth.”

Fjord wasn’t quite sure if he believed in Caduceus’ herbal remedies, but chewing them would mean that he could avoid talking to Caleb for a little bit longer. He put the glass down and started chewing. It was minty, just as he expected, and just strong enough to mask the bile still in his mouth.

“Better?” Caleb asked after a moment of awkward silence.

Fjord bristled at how the Zemnian seemed to be stepping around him like broken glass but didn’t have the energy to pick a fight at the moment. “Much.”

“ _Gut_.” Caleb finally looked at Fjord’s face and grimaced. Apparently whatever he saw there was less than appealing. “I’ll go and get you a face cloth and some more water. Stay here, I’ll be back in a moment.”

Before Fjord could object and try to get it himself, Caleb was out of the room. Sighing, he settled back into his bed. Between his head and his stomach he wasn’t even sure he could stand if he wanted to, much less navigate the stairs and have enough of a conversation with the innkeep to get a cloth and a bucket. Plus, the rest of the Mighty Nein would be there, eating breakfast and preparing for the journey back to Rosohna and the Bright Queen. He didn’t want to have to deal with Caduceus’s perceptive gaze, Nott’s strange mixture of judgement and pity, Yasha’s compassion.

And then there was Jester and Beau. In a rush, Fjord’s outburst came back to him. He definitely couldn’t handle facing them again, with their anger and tears that he more than deserved. Or worse, their compassion. Their _forgiveness_. He spat out the mint leaves in the barf-bucket and pushed it underneath the bed. Definitely better to let Caleb be his buffer, at least for a little bit.

Fjord took a deep breath before he spiraled down a hole he wouldn’t be able to drag himself out of. His head didn’t ache enough to block out what he was trying to avoid completely. Decided to take stock of his situation. His armor was stacked in a neat pile in the corner of the room, far neater than he would have been able to manage if he was as drunk as he thought he was last night. He also realized with a start that his clothes were far dryer than they had any right to be considering his stint in the rain. Looking down, he saw that his typical undershirt had been replaced with his sleepshirt and he wasn’t wearing his trousers.

He was still perfectly modest with his small clothes on, or at least he tried to tell himself that. But the half-remembered half-fabricated memory of Caleb’s hands all over him, murmuring comforting in Zemnian while coaxing his clothes off, came to him unbidden.

 _He was just being nice_ , Fjord told himself like someone biting their own hand to snap themselves out of delirium. _No, not even nice. Just collecting favors. Ones you can’t even pay back now._

The door swung open and the wizard in question entered the room, facecloth draped over his arm and a bowl of water in his hand. “For such a dirt hole they definitely know how to scrape every copper out of their patrons. I had to buy this cloth off of him before he’d even give me the bowl.”

“I can pay you back,” Fjord said automatically, straightening up in his bed.

“Nonsense, it was only a few copper. Nothing the Bright Queen won’t give us back tenfold.” He crossed the room and handed the cloth and bowl to Fjord. If their hands brushed each other’s for the briefest of moments, Fjord did his best to ignore it. Instead, Fjord wet the cloth and used it to wipe the bile and who knows what else on his face. When he was done set the cloth and bowl aside, hands heavy. Satisfied, Caleb nodded and turned away from him towards the door.

Some emotion boiled in his stomach, hot and bubbling. Something about the gentle way Caleb was treating him didn’t settle right. Caleb wasn’t gentle with him before, back when he had held a falchion to Caleb’s throat. He wasn’t gentle with him in Dashilla’s lair, blood dancing around them in the water. Caleb was many things but he wasn’t gentle. Not to Fjord, at least. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” 

Caleb stopped in his step, back stiff as a board. “Do what?”

“Staying up and looking after me, getting me stuff to drink and wash my face with. Acting like my nurse and all that.”

“If I have offended you, I assure you that was not my intent—”

“I know it’s easy to do that now,” Fjord continued despite himself, voice rising in a way that felt too raw, too real. It felt too good, like taking the lid off of a boiling pot to relieve some of the steam. “After having a little outburst and drinking myself silly. After nearly getting clawed to death by some fucking demons. After losing every ounce of power I _fucking had_. I know it’s easy to think I’m not capable of taking care of myself—”

Caleb looked back at him “Fjord—”

“But I am capable, Caleb. I can take care of my own problems, just like I always have. Just like—“ The concern in Caleb’s eyes was too much for Fjord to handle. His voice caught and tears started to well, unbidden. “I’m not _useless_.” 

The first couple of tears started to roll down his cheeks as Caleb knelt by his bed, the wizard’s expression far too soft. “You are not useless. I have never thought that, not for a second. None of us have.”

Fjord sat up and turned away from Caleb, getting ready to find some way to bolt. His body protested him but he needed to get out of there, needed, _needed_ — “Then stop treating me like I am.”

“The only one who is treating you like you’re useless is yourself!” Caleb always had the uncanny ability to change his voice from soft to hard in a moment’s notice and this time was no exception. “Ever since Molly died—no, even before then—you’ve been constantly trying to prove that you’re a productive member of this group. Thinking that every blunder is your fault and every success is in spite of your own shortcomings. Throwing yourself into every danger because you think you deserve to be the one at risk.”

More tears followed the first and Fjord could only wipe at them furiously, claws catching on the tender skin of his cheeks. 

“You’ve been holding onto magic that doesn’t sit well with you, magic that tries to kill you half the time. And all for what? Because you think you don’t have any worth without it.” Caleb’s hand landed on Fjord’s shoulder carefully, like he was both out of practice with human interaction and worried Fjord was going to bolt at any moment. "That's a heavy weight you don't need to carry, my friend."

“You didn’t know me before, Cay,” and Fjord hated how scratchy his voice sounded, how Vandran’s drawl had dropped but his smooth glass voice didn’t come up either. How he was speaking in some in-between voice that he didn't know but was beginning to like more and more. A voice that he only used in these raw moments with Caleb. “I’m not like the rest of you. I wasn’t born strong or talented or a godsdamned _prodigy_. I wasn’t special enough to be chosen by a real god. I was just a nobody, just some orphan sailor who was lucky to be on a boat that wouldn't throw him overboard. If Uk’otoa hadn’t pulled me out from the ocean like he did I would have been gone and no one would have missed me.”

Caleb turned him around with such tenderness that Fjord couldn’t help but be led. “We’d miss you, Fjord.”

It didn’t sound like a joke but Fjord found himself smiling anyway, tears still wet on his cheeks. “You guys didn’t even know me then.”

“Doesn’t matter. The Nein would have always felt incomplete without you there.” Caleb’s gaze left his own for a few moments, contemplative. When it met Fjord’s own gaze he felt his heart stutter. “If it means anything, I—I’d miss you. If you had drowned. Or died today, or left tomorrow. I'd miss you if you were gone.”

“Caleb—"

“I mean it. Not your powers or your sword or the promise you made me that you think you’re beholden to. I’d miss _you_.”

"And what if I don't know who that is?" Fjord could barely get the words out, even on a whisper. But it was a truth he had been neglecting in himself for a long time.

Caleb grinned and it was like the sunrise catching itself on the morning tide. "Then we'll help you figure it out."

Emboldened, Fjord put his hand over the one Caleb had on his shoulder. "You mean we'll make it work?"

And as if Fjord wasn't already blessed with the full force of Caleb's smile, Caleb started to _laugh_. Rusty, almost clumsy, but so genuine that Fjord felt like his heart was going to burst. "Yes, yes, we'll make it work. Or something like that."

A blissful sense of calm fell over Fjord. Not numbness like he sought yesterday; thoughts were still flitting through his head, loose and untethered. Not to mention his body still felt like he had been run over by a cart two times over and going on a third. But he felt...settled. Grounded. Caleb's hand on his shoulder and Fjord's own hand on top of that was a stabilizing force Fjord didn't realize that he needed. Slowly the tears stopped flowing and dried from his face and Fjord relished in this moment.

Fjord was disappointed when Caleb moved his hand from his shoulder and moved away, but it was only for the wizard to grab the nearby chair and pull it closer to the bed. Caleb seemed just as reluctant as Fjord to break the peace between them, but eventually Fjord had to bring voice to worries that he still had. "I still don't know what I'm going to do. Where do I even go from here?"

"You have a lot of choices ahead of you. None of them will be easy." Caleb's expression darkened slightly, losing the easy smile so quickly Fjord thought he must have hallucinated it. He missed it.

"Yeah. I know." Fjord shifted in the bed. "You think Jester will be able to get in touch with good old Uk'otoa and put in a good word for me?

An amused look in his eye came back for a just a second. "Perhaps." And then his expression steeled back to more serious matters. "There was, ah, I had another idea. If you were amenable."

Fjord's ears pricked up. "I'm all ears."

"You had mentioned feeling...helpless once you lost your powers. I know...I know a thing or two about that. After the Soltryce Academy, when I went a little crazy, I forgot everything. All of the magic I'd learned, months of study, completely gone." Caleb spoke haltingly, as if each word was pulled from somewhere deep inside. Fjord was as always impressed with Caleb's ability to talk about the things that hurt him so, that haunted him. But the part of Fjord that was normally angry with the wizard for his forthcoming was, for the moment, silent.

"You? Forget all of your magic? I can't imagine that."

There it was, another quick quirk of the lips, a smile almost brought to the surface. "It's true. I remember how terrible that was, how horrible I felt. About myself, about the world. But doing magic again brought me back to myself. When I summoned Frumpkin for the first time—I started to feel like a person again. A new person."

Fjord was brought back to the Xhorhaus, to the heated conversation about identity and the past. He felt his face head up. "Well trust me, that's what I'm trying to do. Get it back."

"No, no, that's not what I'm saying." There was a moment where Fjord could see Caleb sort out the thoughts in his own head. Fjord waited for him to get his words in order. "What I'm trying to say is, there are other ways to learn magic. Some magic is given, some magic is taken, and some...some you learn for yourself.

It was Fjord's turn for his mind to stutter to a stop. "Caleb, I couldn't—"

"Don't sell yourself short, Fjord," Caleb said, cutting him off with a quick motion of his hand. "You are far brighter than you give yourself credit for. Besides, you already have experience with the arcane, even if it was from Uk'otoa. Magic is...it's like riding a bike. It's easier to pick it up again once you've done it before."

Something fluttered in Fjord's chest, something that if he didn't know any better he would have called _hope_. "And you'd—you'd teach me?"

"If you'd like." After seeing Caleb teach Nott with a patience Fjord had not thought possible, he shouldn't have been surprised that the wizard would be excited to teach. But it was still nice to see the excited glint in Caleb's eye, not unlike the one he had seen when they had made that blood pact all of those months ago. "Don't get me wrong, it won't be easy to relearn. It'll be frustrating and the same spells might not stick like they did the first time. But...I think it would be good for you. To have something that was yours. Something that no one, not even Uk'otoa could take away."

Fjord weighed this over in his mind. He didn't feel particularly enthused about the idea of starting over from scratch. But he had done it once before, on the shores of a beach with a life he didn't even think was worth saving. This time around didn't feel as daunting, especially with the company he had at his side. "I think I'd like that, Caleb. I think I'd like that a lot. Thank you.

It was Caleb's turn to flush. "Of course, Fjord. Always here to help." And Caleb looked at him with an intensity that he usually only saved for his books and the tension built between them. It had been growing for a while, Fjord realized. Gazes, hands touching, promises made with tangled words full of meaning neither of them know fully. It's enough that Fjord is tempted to fall into it, fall into those lips and that gaze so bright blue. 

But that thought terrified almost as much as losing his powers. If he had been imagining things wrong, or if Caleb didn't feel the same way, or wasn't ready, or something, _anything_ —he wasn't sure he could handle two rejections so close together. He breathed out and sat back, snapping the tension between them like a line. "Well, that's one plan down," he said, changing the subject as subtly as he can. "Now just to figure out how I'm going to handle facing Jester and Beau after last night.

"Oh, I think you'll find that they'll take it better than you think," Caleb replied. "They care about you deeply, Fjord. We all do."

"I know. That's what's going to make it difficult."

With this Caleb stood up and stretched his arms. "I'm sure you'll be able to handle it. You're more than capable. Besides, if you wait it's just going to get worse." He then started to walk away from the bed and towards the door. "I'll let you get decent."

Caleb's hand was on the handle but Fjord didn't think he could let him go without saying one last thing. "Thank you, Caleb."

"For what?"

"For giving a damn." But it was more than that, always more. He tried again. "For being my friend, even when all I wanted to do was push you away."

It still didn't quite convey the depth of his emotions, but by Caleb's expression he seemed to say more than he did. "It is nothing. I've certainly done the same before." Another moment, another pause, and there was that look in his eyes. The same one in the Bright Queen's chamber, in Dashilla's lair. The same one that meant that Fjord was going to be on the receiving end of Caleb's full attention. "We'll figure this out."

Fjord found that he didn't mind. "We will. See you in a few."

And with that Caleb left and Fjord released a breath he hadn't realized that he was holding. Just when he thought he understood the wizard he had another facet to him, another level of prowess and understanding caught Fjord by surprise. He hadn't expected the conversation to go as it did, to cry, to feel so _seen_. But it didn't feel like something taken away from him like he'd felt before. It felt more like something given freely. Something Fjord is able to offload after so long of keeping it under wraps. It felt...nice.

Before he could dwell too deeply on that fact, he got up out of bed, ignored the protestations of his body, and began preparing for face the rest of the Nein.

**Author's Note:**

> title from Sinners by Barns Courtney because it hurts just bad enough.
> 
> me, banging pots and pans together in front of Fjord's face: TALK TO CALEB! TALK TO CALEB! HE UNDERSTANDS LOSING EVERYTHING!! HE UNDERSTANDS WHAT ITS LIKE TO FEEL INDEBTED TO A MONSTER!! TALK! TO! CALEB!
> 
> I might write more related to Caleb teaching Fjord magic - perhaps something softer and more tender to counteract the angst in this fic. (and also actually get to some smooches and actual ship stuff asdoifhaosdifh). If you're interested in something like that let me know!
> 
> Come join me at my widofjord tumblr blog [here](https://cutpalms.tumblr.com/) if you want to yell about this or anything CR in general.


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